


And I'm not your protagonist, I'm not even my own

by Cryptic_Crypto_Cryptids



Series: BREU (Broken Reality Extended Universe) [2]
Category: Broken Reality Server - Fandom, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Broken Reality, Gen, because they don't fit your idea of how they should act, child abuse but in the subtle socially acceptable way, of crushing young girl's dreams, quirkless discrimination, repressing your emotions for the sake of staying quiet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryptic_Crypto_Cryptids/pseuds/Cryptic_Crypto_Cryptids
Summary: She just wanted to choose for herself.
Series: BREU (Broken Reality Extended Universe) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904356
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7
Collections: Broken Reality Server





	And I'm not your protagonist, I'm not even my own

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from Sweet Hibiscus Tea (by Penelope Scott) because the vibes fit.

Looking back, it felt like she had been holding her breath her whole life. Waiting.

She was quiet, as a child. Gentle. _Delicate._

That was what her parents said, anyways. And everyone around her.

* * *

She was three when she broke her wrist rough housing with the kids from down the street. Her parents scolded her while they were driving to the hospital. Not just for her wrist; no, she had gotten her pure white fur coated in dirt and grime. How _could_ she? She was supposed to be _ladylike._

She didn’t get to play with them again.

* * *

Her sister was tiny. Soft.

Her parents said she would be strong. Powerful. She could be a hero with her claws and fangs, she could be something _special._

Cryptic wanted to scream. She could be strong. She could be _powerful._

She didn’t say anything.

* * *

She was five when she sat in the back of her father’s car, kicking the seat in front of her, waiting.

When they got to the doctors, she was far more interested in how the X-ray machine worked than the fact that it told her she had an extra joint in her pinky toe.

“Cryptic, do you know what that means?” the doctor asked her.

She shook her head, not looking away from the machine.

“It means you’re quirkless.”

* * *

Her mother was distant for a while, but Cryptic didn’t know why. She tried her best to get her attention, but eventually she gave up and went back to taking her toys apart to see how they worked.

Except that just made her parents upset with her. So she stopped doing it where they could see.

* * *

“You can’t play with us! You’ll just cry if you get hurt!” The other kids jeered at her crestfallen expression.

She went home and tried to play with her sister, up until her parents found them and grounded her for ripping her dress.

* * *

“Dad, I want to be a support hero!” 

A seven year old Cryptic brandished a brochure her school had put out that day. 

Her school always put out flyers and brochures on career day, both for hero jobs and more generic civilian occupations.

She had fallen in love with the workshop displayed on the glossy cover, the descriptions inside. The feel of metal under her fingertips. So many new things, just waiting to be made, to be brought into existence.

The rush of power she felt was exhilarating. Intoxicating.

Her dad sighed. “Cryptic, you can’t.”

Her heart broke in three words.

“Wh-why not??” She felt tears in her eyes, threatening to fall and blurring her vision so that all she could see was a swirl of colour.

“It’s too dangerous and difficult for you! You don’t even have a quirk.”

‘ _You don’t even have a quirk.’_

She crossed her arms.

“And?”

Her father gestured vaguely. “And- well, you know.”

She was pushing it, she knew. She had _just_ convinced them to let her wear overalls instead of those stupid, hard to clean dresses. 

She continued anyway. 

“No, I don’t know. _Tell me_ .” Maybe she sounded like a petulant child but you know what? She _was_ a petulant child.

Her father sighed again, deeper this time. 

“Don’t do this again, Cryptic. You know why you can’t.”

She scowled at him. “I’m not _fragile_ just because I don’t have a quirk! I can do everything my classmates can do just fine!”

“You know it’s not about that. Drop it. You can’t. Besides, why would you want to? It’s so… _messy._ ”

“Wouldn’t you rather be a housewife?” her mother chimed in.

She felt tears rolling down her face as she stormed off.

She was going to be a support hero if it killed her.

* * *

“Who do you have a crush on?” a girl Cryptic hadn’t caught the name of asked.

She shrugged. She didn’t even want to be here, but her mother had dragged her into the car, hissing “It’ll be good for you to spend time with some girls your age! It’s just one sleepover.”

The other girls stared at her. “C’mon, tell us! You gotta like some boy!”

“Why?” She felt her ears flatten as she curled up defensively. 

The girl struggled for a minute before her expression turned angry “You just have to! Now tell us!”

Cryptic shook her head. “I don’t like anyone!”

The girl glared at her. “Whatever. I didn’t even want you to come.”

They turned away, leaving her outside the tight knit circle.

She spent the night on the couch downstairs, hearing faint laughter from upstairs every so often.

* * *

Her baby brother screamed and cried constantly. It _grated_ on her ears.

Her parents just laughed when she covered her ears, barely holding back tears from how much it hurt.

She locked herself in her room for two days.

No one noticed. Not her parents. Not her sister. Not her teachers, or her grandparent who came to see the baby, or her classmates.

No one saw how she crumbled when she realised she was invisible. 

No one saw how a nine year old Cryptic broke when she realised she was _useless._

* * *

At age eleven she won a prize for something she had built. She certainly hadn’t expected it, considering how she had built it with only the parts she could scramble together. 

She had built it in the rare moments her parents hadn’t filled with extracurriculars or chores, trying to make something out of her.

It wasn’t particularly hard to hide her lack of sleep, in the end.

She was invisible, after all.

But she had managed to build something she was proud of in her stolen hours.

An expanding shield.

It didn’t look like much at first. A disk of refuse metal, fused together, a strap on one side that went around the forearm.

But when you pressed the button by the strap, it opened like a flower blooming. 

And she’d painted it to look like one too. No point in good craftsmanship if you didn’t let it shine.

She was ecstatic at the thought of bringing the certificate stating she had won first place home, along with the prize.

A hundred dollars. With that kind of money, she could get some actual tools! Maybe even materials that weren’t from the dump…

Her parents shattered her excitement. 

Instead of being proud like she’d hoped, they were angry.

Angry because she had gone behind their backs, and against their wishes.

They took the prize money. Her mother shredded the certificate. Her dad confiscated the shield and put it who knows where.

They grounded her for three months.

Not that it meant much, without friends to hang out with.

She was furious.

* * *

Her parents and grandparents applauded her for the first time she could ever remember. 

Her first piano recital had gone exactly to plan. 

Three years of lessons had left her a decent player at age thirteen.

They were... proud of her.

She felt numb. Bitter.

This wasn’t what she wanted.

The praise felt hollow, empty, _false._

_This wasn’t what she wanted._

She ran out of the auditorium, racing out of the school before anyone had even registered what had happened.

She crashed through the woods, barely feeling the thorns and branches whipping at her, scratching her and shredding the stupid, extravagant dress they had forced her into. 

She tore at it, desperate to get it off.

It _ripped._ A long, satisfying tear, and she was left in her shorts and undershirt.

She kept running. Tears filled her vision, leaving her practically blind, only narrowly avoiding running into trees several times.

She ran into a clearing and tripped, landing face first and smearing wet dirt with her tears, leaving mud stuck in her fur.

Heaving sobs wracked her chest as she curled in on herself.

* * *

No one came for her.

When she arrived home in the early hours of the morning, just before dawn, without her dress, covered in mud, sticks, leaves, other detritus, and blood, her father said nothing as he dragged her outside.

He locked her in the yard, and walked away from the door, even as she stood there shivering.

She hosed the grime and blood off herself, hissing as the cold water stung her scratched, tender skin.

Without a towel she was left shivering, fur soaked, giving her the appearance of a miserable wet animal.

Well, to be fair, she kind of was one.

It was only when he was heading out to work that he unlocked the door.

They didn’t speak of it again.

* * *

She was fifteen.

She just wanted a _choice._

High school was… a difficult time for her. Her parents made her enter a prestigious private school, taking up all her time with studying and extra curriculars, and glaring at her if she even neared the topic of support courses, engineering, or even anything they deemed “too techy”.

She _hated_ it.

* * *

They were moulding her into the perfect housewife. 

The thought of spending the rest of her life in a house somewhere in the suburbs, going to PTA meetings and gossiping, made her distraught.

* * *

Her “friends” (who her parents had paid, as she later found out) had tried to push her into kissing a boy they put her on a blind date with. (Blind date was putting it generously, considering they had lied about going to see a movie together before leaving her alone in the movie theater with _him._ )

When he leaned in she had slapped him across the face in a panic before running into the bathrooms to have a panic attack.

Her “friends” ignored her completely the next day. Their end of the deal was done, after all.

* * *

Her sister was going to a heroics program out of state. 

Her parents were _so proud of their fantastic, amazing, special daughter._

Cryptic didn’t go to see her off. 

She knew it wasn’t her sister’s fault. But she couldn’t deal with the bitter jealousy that rose like bile in her throat.

So she ignored her.

* * *

“You’re a disappointment.”

The words rung in her ears. She hadn’t _meant_ to fail her geography test.

* * *

She was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, scissors held in one shaking hand.

She lifted her arm and grabbed a lock of her curly blue hair. Her hair, which her mother always preened over and was _so. damn. proud of._

**Snip.**

_“Why don’t you just sit this one out, Cryptic? It’s a bit… rough, for someone like you.”_

Her brother.

**Snip.**

_“Wouldn’t you rather settle down with a nice boy, dear?”_

Her grandmother.

**Snip.**

_“Why don’t you let a boy answer this one? They’re better at math anyways.”_

Her teacher.

She dropped the scissors in the sink. All around her were tufts of blue hair.

She rubbed the tears from her eyes and looked in the mirror.

It wasn’t pretty. It was choppy, and short, and uneven in several places.

Perfect.

* * *

Her mother shrieked when she came home, before rushing her to the hairdresser, seething about “How _could_ she _ruin_ her beautiful hair??”

She smiled, and said nothing, which just made her mother angrier.

She didn’t care.

* * *

Her eighteenth birthday was spent alone, just like every other one after her ninth.

She swayed lightly on the swing she was sitting on. It was late, and the park was closed. 

Fortunately, the fence wasn’t very high.

_“Happy birthday to me, I guess.”_

She blew out the candle she had stabbed into a grocery store cupcake, extinguishing her only light in the darkness.

* * *

She had to leave.

She had known this was coming for a long time, really. 

She had money stashed from her various part time jobs over the years, a driver’s license, and an acceptance to a college support program in a little town called Truth or Consequences, Ohio.

She had called about a small apartment in the area and had managed to rent it for the next two months using most of her meager savings.

She rented a car to move her stuff (a few boxes, an air mattress, and a bicycle), leaving her with barely anything left.

And today, she was leaving. 

She took a deep breath.

In the end she’d decided to say goodbye to her parents, instead of just leaving without a word. 

“Hey, mom, dad?”

Her parents looked up from where they were sitting at the table. It was midmorning on a Saturday, not long after she’d graduated, and everything had been calm for a while. 

They couldn’t stop her at this point. She’d made sure of that by loading her stuff up late last night. 

She grimaced internally at how they were sure to react.

“I’m moving out.”

Her parents just stared, not understanding.

“Today. I’m saying goodbye.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes. “What on earth are you talking about?”

She took a deep breath, fiddling with her tail.

“I’m moving out today. I’m leaving now.”

Her father stood up. “Like hell you are; _sit down, young lady_.”

“No. I’m leaving. Bye.”

She started to walk past them towards the door, but had to run to avoid being grabbed.

She ran out the door, slamming it behind her, and slid into the unlocked car, quickly buckling in and starting it.

Her parents came out the door, followed by her little brother.

_“Get back here.”_

She shook her head, scared. 

She’d left a letter to explain in her room, so they weren’t left completely in the dark.

Her chest still felt heavy as she drove, away from the past, and towards her future.

* * *

_Dear mom, dad,_

_I’m writing this letter to tell you why I left. Why I’m moving._

_I can’t be what you want me to be. I may be a disappointment._

_I’m not, and never will be, the perfect china doll you wished for._

_But that was never what_ **_I_ ** _wanted._

_So I’m leaving. I’m going to be a support hero._

_I hope you’ll still love me, even if you don’t approve of my choices._

_I’m not sorry for making my own decisions. But I am sorry I couldn’t say them to your faces._

_Sincerely,_

_Cryptic_

* * *

She’d done it.

Her laughter was loud and a little hysterical.

Oh god, she’d done it.

What, she was just going to show up, barely any money left, with the most basic of supplies, and an air mattress?

....She’d figure it out. Probably.

Her head fell forward onto the steering wheel.

_What now?_  
  


**Author's Note:**

> that was an experience.


End file.
